


Checkmate

by HeartlandTower



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V, Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Filming, Gags, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Vomiting, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:29:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlandTower/pseuds/HeartlandTower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many ways to demoralize the Resistance and encourage them to lay down their arms against Academia. Jean-Michel is creative, and knows just the way to turn the city's beloved mayor against them. Rookshipping (Mr. Heartland/Jean-Michel Roger), implied villainshipping, AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Speak up, or they won’t hear you.”

His head was down, and when he made no attempt to move, the soldier grabbed Mr. Heartland’s hair and forced his head upwards so his eyes would meet the camera’s lens.

What was once a vibrant colorful suit was now tarnished, torn in too many places and dirty with blood and sweat. Most of the feathered collar had been ripped free from its threading, what remained was little more than faint blue wisps. His glasses were cracked, behind them his eyes sunken with the weight of duty he shouldered.

The city was under siege, had been so for nearly three weeks now. No one had expected Academia’s forces to spill through from some alternate continuum; it all happened suddenly in a focused, coordinated strike and then Heartland Tower was burning, the city lie in ruins, yet still they persisted. The Resistance fought back hard but Academia had found ways to ferret them out.

Heartland suspected that was why he had been captured instead of carded like the rest of the inhabitants of Heartland Tower: Dr. Faker, the Arclights and the Tenjo brothers, countless others. What better way to demoralize the Resistance than to bend and break the city’s beloved mayor?

“I’d rather not,” Heartland managed hoarsely, staring down the lens’ aperture. This small amount of rebellion was met with braying laughter from several of the members of the little group assigned to film this particular piece of propaganda. It continued for a time until they were interrupted by the click of the door’s lock releasing, letting a new well-dressed man into the small and dimly lit room.

Jean-Michel surveyed the scene before him with thinly veiled disgust as the soldier gripping him let go abruptly and allowed Heartland to twist his head away.

“I’m told the mayor is giving you some trouble,” he said briskly, sparing Heartland only a brief glance before his gaze settled on the soldier who’d held him before – presumably the second highest in command of those present.

“W-well, not that much, he’ll break just like the rest of these Xyz scum do eventu—“

“You’re excused, 227,” Jean-Michel interrupted, folding his hands together behind his back, his face emotionless as ever.

The man seemed a little flustered. “Sir..?”

There was a pause as Jean-Michel tilted his head towards the soldier he’d designated as 227 before the faintest of smiles graced his thin lips.

“We’re going to film something a little different today. Something I think the Resistance forces will really respond to.”

Clearly a question lingered on 227’s lips but he held it back, chewing the inside of his cheek before striding out of the room as fast as he could manage. He spared no further glances in Mr. Heartland’s direction, and he was grateful for the reprieve, at least until he became aware Jean-Michel was watching him closely. All of a sudden Heartland had his undivided attention.

“Oh~? See something you like?” Heartland quipped, showing his teeth in a facetious smile.

Jean-Michel didn’t respond to this and Heartland hid his disappointment. He knew as well as his captor did that they were locked in a game now, one he had learned to play well over the years. A game of wits, of deceit and deception, one that might mean life or death – to Heartland, anyways.

There was a long pause before Jean-Michel addressed Mr. Heartland for the first time.

“This world is so different from ours: bright, colorful, uplifting. But that’s nothing but a façade, isn’t it? Below the surface Heartland City is just the same as Academia. It suffers its own tragedies, its own deaths, losses, it harbors its own sins.”

Jean-Michel’s voice dragged out on the last word as he approached Heartland, looking down on him as if regarding some insect.

Heartland didn’t respond, so after a beat Jean-Michel turned and addressed the remaining soldiers: those that manned the simple camera trained on the mayor and the makeshift console that allowed them to broadcast the feed over any nearby video channels. “Go live for me, would you? I want the Resistance to see this in full detail.”

“Yes, sir,” one of them gave a curt response before she directed the others at their stations. Within a few moments the red light at the front of the camera switched to a soft green color, followed by a confirmation that they were broadcasting.

Academia could not yet belay a video feed throughout all of Heartland City, but their network allowed them to disrupt all video displays and duel terminals with a live feed within a significant radius from their current location: the remains of Heartland Tower. Mr. Heartland knew this; they all had seen the propaganda directed at the Resistance, encouraging them to lay down their arms and submit. He suspected this would amount to more of the same.

Jean-Michel addressed the camera first, turning to face it before spreading his arms wide.

“Your city lies in ruin, Xyz. It’s admirable you continue to struggle, but your only solace will be found in surrender. You will not win this war; you know this as well as we do. We are willing to show you mercy, but only if you show us you are willing to submit.”

He paused – perhaps for dramatic effect – then turned towards Mr. Heartland, on his knees with his arms bound behind him. Posturing, wasn’t it?

“Your mayor is ours, and even now he bends to the will of Academia. He w—“

“How rousing!” Heartland interjected, managing his widest smile for the occasion, letting his eyes meet the camera’s lens again. He knew how to posture, how to play this game. He was afraid, yes, but he hid it well, as he’d done countless times before in his days dueling in the Underground with the rest of the Fearsome Four. “Thrilling speech, my good man! But you’ll find it quite impossible to break the burning hearts of our fair city so easily!”

He had expected Jean-Michel to be surprised by this outburst, perhaps taken aback, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, he found the man smiling.

He approached Heartland where he knelt, crouching down to place both hands on his shoulders. The angle was a poor shot for the camera behind him but it put the mayor face-to-face with his captor and his piercing gaze. Heartland was surprised when he found himself desperate to break eye contact first, and stared at the ground instead, ashamed.

The gesture, however slight, seemed to amuse his captor, and Jean-Michel took Heartland’s chin in his hand, gently twisting his head this way and that, looking past the cuts and bruises, the thin film of sweat and grime that marred the mayor’s face.

“I know all about your ‘burning heart’, Mr. Heartland,” Jean-Michael whispered, leaning in so his lips nearly brushed Heartland’s. Their sudden closeness set Heartland on edge and he flinched away suddenly but felt the weight of the man’s hand on the back of his neck, keeping him close. Jean-Michel leaned in until their lips actually did meet, his tongue briefly flicking against the mayor’s teeth before his next words caught on the breath in Heartland’s mouth.

“And I know how to break you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jean-Michel had stepped to the side slightly, giving the camera a better view as he addressed his unseen yet captive audience once again. “Such spirit, I’ll give you that,” he said lightly, resting a palm on Mr. Heartland’s cheek before his hand drew back and slapped him roughly. The force of it stung, but wounded Heartland’s pride more. His face twisted into an uncharacteristic scowl and Jean-Michel tut-tutted him, adding, “Such a look is so unbecoming of you, Mr. Heartland.”

The man strode behind Heartland where he knelt, both hands resting on his shoulders.

“Heartland Tower has fallen, and now your mayor submits to the might of Academia. I want you all to remember what you see here, when you think of raising your cards in defiance of Fusion again.”

His words caused Heartland to glance up, a question forming on his lips, but Jean-Michel was quick to shush him with a gloved hand wrapped around his throat. “If I were you, I’d keep quiet,” he warned, tracing his fingers along the bump that made his Adam’s apple. Heartland felt a nervous shudder work its way up his spine, but managed to hold his tongue.

There was the possibility they hadn’t carded him as they wanted to make an example of him, to demoralize the forces of Xyz that were still fighting back against Fusion. Were they going to kill him and air it to the Resistance?

Heartland found the truth was somehow even more terrifying than that, as he felt Jean-Michel’s hand move lower, down the curve of his chest to the remaining buttons on his suit jacket. They popped free with little effort.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Heartland asked, trying desperately to mask the concern in his voice but doing a poor job of it as his voice cracked lightly. His arms were bound behind him but his legs were free, so he used this small amount of freedom to inch himself to the right, away from his captor.

Jean-Michel was quick to correct him.

One hand buried itself in Heartland’s tousled hair, grabbing as much at it could in one tight fist then yanked back abruptly, causing the mayor to yelp out in sudden pain as strands were torn free from the force. His head had been angled backward violently to the point he was nearly staring at the ceiling, and at Jean-Michel standing over him.

“Don’t speak unless you’re told to,” he said tersely, his lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned over the mayor, still gripping his hair to hold Heartland at the same uncomfortable angle. As fear began to wind tightly in his chest Jean-Michel closed the distance between them until surprisingly, their lips touched. Heartland flinched reflexively and tried to wrench his head away but the hand clutching his hair was unforgiving and refused to let him move an inch.

The hand around his throat tightened and Heartland let out an involuntary gasp of pain, which gave his captor an opening. Jean-Michel’s tongue forced its way into his mouth as he kissed him, sliding eagerly against his own. It roamed every inch of Heartland’s mouth it could access before Heartland snapped out of it and fought back. As Jean-Michel tried to deepen the kiss he was greeted with teeth; he bit as hard as he could manage and was rewarded with the taste of blood.

It must have startled his captor as he withdrew and let go of Heartland’s hair, bringing his hand to his mouth and removing it with blood staining his fingers. Jean-Michel’s brows furrowed as Heartland took in this small victory, short-lived as it was.

“It seems we need to keep that acerbic tongue of yours occupied,” he said bitterly, stepping around to the mayor’s rear, then kneeling behind him. Jean-Michel moved quickly and with purpose, fidgeting with his hands to the point that Mr. Heartland thought he was freeing him from the rope wrapped tightly around both wrists. Instead, he felt the man removing his gloves: first the right and then the left.

No great loss – they both were dirty and torn at this point – but why?

“You’ll need to do more than that,” Heartland responded bitterly. “If you think you can traipse into Heartland City and just—“

Jean-Michel had drifted around to stand in front of him again, and startled him by jamming his own glove into his mouth. It had been balled up and wedged firmly in between his teeth on the right side of his mouth. His shock lingered for but a moment before his second glove was forced into his mouth on the left side. It was crude, but it left Heartland’s mouth hanging open in a way that was mildly embarrassing. The fabric tasted unclean and the position of his jaw grew uncomfortable fairly quickly.

“There. I think I prefer you this way, Mr. Heartland,” Jean-Michel chided, stepping to the side so the camera caught fully the state Heartland had been left in. It was the first time a blush had crept across his face. “I think we could put that mouth to better use, don’t you?” he asked, letting his thumb slide into Heartland’s open mouth to press down against his tongue and make him gag softly.

This time Jean-Michel did not stand in front of Heartland but to the side, giving the camera a view of what he intended to do next. The man grabbed hold of Heartland’s hair and forced his face directly into his groin, rubbing his cheek against something firm and hard that sent a jolt of terror through the mayor’s body. He let out a weak moan but Jean-Michel only smiled.

“Come now, Mr. Heartland. We both know this is the only thing you Xyz scum are good for, hm?”

He unzipped his pants and eased out his cock, teasingly rubbing it against Heartland’s cheek; any attempts to pull away were met with increasingly violent tugs to his hair, and Jean-Michel’s hands firm on the back of his neck. Heartland was aware of the steady green light of the camera and refused to meet the lens’ stare, too ashamed to meet the eyes of the Resistance who were surely watching this agent of Academia using him in such a way.

Jean-Michel thrust against his cheek until his face was streaked with precum and he grew bored with just thrusting, positioning himself instead against the mayor’s open mouth. His breath was ragged and heavy, hot against the head of his cock and he throbbed gently in anticipation.

Heartland’s eyes met his then, silently pleading for mercy they both knew would not come. Jean-Michel only smiled, and slid his cock slowly into Mr. Heartland’s mouth.

He gagged weakly, his own gloves stopping him from even biting down. “Good to know Xyz is good for something,” Jean-Michel had muttered, glancing at the camera as he spoke these words in particular before his attention was back on Heartland, and on forcing his cock in and out of the man’s mouth. The crew present was silent as Heartland choked and gagged, and Jean-Michel took advantage of the man’s position, groaning softly and smirking any time the mayor struggled against him.

The taste and scent of him overwhelmed Heartland's senses and made him feel sick. Every thrust Jean-Michel made an effort to drag himself across the flat of the mayor's tongue, to leave a lingering taste of him and his precum. He made sure to violate his throat at an angle the camera before them could easily capture. Saliva ran down Heartland's chin and tears sprang unbidden to his eyes when a particularly deep thrust left his nose buried in Jean-Michel's pubic hair and his body bucking and writhing as his gag reflex fought the intrusion.

"A shame I can't feel your lips around me, to watch you suck," he heard Jean-Michel comment in a haze as he finally backed off of him and Heartland gasped and nearly wretched, hungrily sucking in lungfuls of air. He was only given a few moments reprieve however, before his captor's cock was back in his mouth, settling into a steady pace. With a smirk, he added, "Well, all in due time."

It didn’t take long – a fact that both surprised and disgusted Mr. Heartland. Jean-Michel grabbed his head with both hands and started to thrust violently, to the point the mayor choked on him and struggled to breathe. When he groaned and sunk himself in fully, twitching hard, the taste of his hot, thick cum hit the back of his throat and slid down; Heartland had little choice but to swallow weakly, though his stomach began to churn almost immediately. Jean-Michel held his position for a few moments, panting softly as he did, then slowly pulled out.

As he did, Heartland thought of the man’s cum sitting hot in his stomach, and what he had been forced to do, doubled over and promptly vomited.

With an empty stomach, what came forth was little more than cum and bile, and with his hands bound Heartland didn’t even have the freedom to wipe traces of it from his lip. Instead his mouth hung open weakly, the sickening taste fresh in his mouth and his chest heaving with the effort.

Jean-Michel regarded the mess with mild disgust, wiping his cock of Heartland’s saliva with one hand. “Should I have you clean that up, then? Perhaps with your mouth?”

Heartland didn’t respond – couldn’t, as he was – so Jean-Michel only chuckled softly.

“This city belongs to Academia now, and you belong to me,” he said, stroking a hand along Heartland’s cheek before moving into position behind him. This took Heartland off-guard; he had thought the man had been finished with him, had humiliated him before the Resistance enough.

As if answering his mental questioning, Jean-Michel kissed the mayor’s neck gently, slid his hands around Heartland’s body and began gently fumbling with the zipper of his pants.

“Oh, we’re not done yet, Mr. Heartland. Far from it. It’ll be a long time before I’m fully finished with you, Xyz scum.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Hm? Speak up, or they won’t hear you,” Jean-Michel said mockingly into his ear, unknowingly repeating the phrase 227 has spoken to him only minutes earlier. Had it only been minutes?

He had pulled Heartland’s pants down far enough to expose his cock, and was knelt behind him lightly stroking his thighs. It wasn’t exactly what the mayor had expected the man to do, but he was rapidly learning to throw his expectations of what Jean-Michel would do out the door. The camera was still rolling, its glass eye blank as it captured and broadcast Mr. Heartland: exposed and with cum still dripping from his lower lip, mouth hung open and his breath ragged and desperate.

Jean-Michel chuckled, knowing full well Heartland couldn’t speak, and continued stroking his thigh with one hand, letting his other gently wipe the cum from the mayor’s lip with one thumb before sliding it into his mouth, rubbing it into his tongue.

“Tell me something,” he said, watching the way Heartland flinched from his touch and shuddered weakly, a red tint flushing his face. “Did it bother you, seeing Dr. Faker carded as he was?”

It had the desired effect. Heartland’s eyes shot open and his expression shifted from meek to angry in an instant. He lunged and threw his weight against his captor, letting out a guttural growl through his gag, and despite his arms being bound Jean-Michel was given a sharp reminder of how important keeping the mayor restrained was. Heartland was muscular, strong, and the sudden aggression nearly knocked Jean-Michel off-balance, despite his anticipation of retaliation.

He was quick to recover, pushing back against Heartland and striking him in the face, hard enough to leave a mark. The man was slightly stunned but the anger refused to bleed from his eyes; clearly he had touched a nerve.

“Sir, a-are you—“ The voice of one of the remaining soldiers manning the broadcast consoles caused Jean-Michel to jerk his head in that direction quickly rebuking any attempt at help.

“No, it’s alright. I have him under control.”

In retrospect he considered it may have been an error to provoke the mayor in such a personal way: any slight victory on Heartland’s part would be a signal to the Resistance that they could fight back too, if the mayor could do so under such heavily stacked odds why couldn’t they? He didn’t want to risk further insubordination so Jean-Michel grabbed a fistful of Heartland’s hair and angled his head upward again, this time facing directly forward.

“Eyes on the camera for me, Mr. Heartland, if you’d be so kind.”

Clearly it startled the man, his gaze cast downward nervously, his earlier rage replaced with humility. The balance of power shifted back in his favor again and Jean-Michel smiled, kissing the side of Heartland’s neck as he kept the man’s head in position.

“Come now, I know you don’t want to disappoint your captive audience. You’ve always prided yourself on your theatricality, haven’t you? Now all of a sudden you’re camera shy?” Jean-Michel goaded him gently, letting his lips brush against Heartland’s neck and ear in a way that sent an unexpected shiver up his spine. His other hand was back on Heartland’s thigh, tracing the curves of the muscles just below the surface with his fingertips.

He couldn’t avoid the camera forever so eventually Heartland did lift his gaze, and looked into the lens. Though he couldn’t see his audience he knew that they saw him, saw the sunken defeat that had begun to work its way into his eyes, saw how humiliated he was to be publicly degraded in such a way. Vaguely he heard Jean-Michel whisper to him, call him a “good boy” and that obedience could be rewarded, but his exact words were drowned out in the shock he felt feeling Jean-Michel’s hand move from his thigh to his cock.

Heartland tried to turn his head, to form words in his mouth through the gag, but the grip on his hair tightened and pulled him back. “No,” Jean-Michel chided lightly, beginning to stroke him. Heartland was flaccid but the gentle stimulation caused him to stiffen reflexively.

“Eyes forward. Put on a good show and this might be enjoyable for you, Mr. Heartland.”

The question of why still lingered at the forefront of Heartland’s mind, but after a few minutes he found he didn’t care.

Jean-Michel began to stroke his cock, running his hand up and down the shaft slowly and rubbing his thumb against the head and the opening at the very tip. His fingers were soft and warm against him, and though Heartland fought to keep his thoughts away from what was happening eventually he had grown hard in his captor’s palm, and each stroke sent slow jolts of pleasure up through his body. Heartland hated that most of all, that somehow his body was enjoying what was happening to him. It was a purely physical response to stimulation, but either way it had felt good, and eventually he wanted more.

Heartland leaned forward and this time Jean-Michel allowed it, eagerly pressing his chest to the man’s back and continuing to neck him, until the mayor’s steady panting had degraded into weak moans escaping his gagged mouth. Without realizing it he began to thrust himself into Jean-Michel’s hand, working his hips as best he could without use of his arms and his pants and underwear bunched messily about his thighs. He was vaguely aware that the man behind him had grown hard again, his cock pressing hard into the small of his back.

“That’s it…” Jean-Michel purred, stroking at a harder and faster pace to reward the thrusting. Heartland was painfully aware how this must look, how the audience just behind the glass lens saw the way he caved to his body’s desires, but as his blood pumped hard and hot in his veins he found in the moment that he didn’t care. Being humiliated in front of the camera, swallowing his captor’s cum, submitting to Jean-Michel now: none of it mattered.

All he wanted now was to find his release.

He was disgusted with himself as he got close, feeling the way the pleasure welled and knotted deep inside him. A moan built low in his throat and Heartland began thrusting desperately into the hand stroking him, eyes shutting as he teetered on the edge and—

Abruptly, it all stopped.

Heartland thrusted and felt nothing. Panting, he opened his eyes and found the hand around his cock had vanished, and was moving rapidly against his lower back. He realized Jean-Michel was jerking himself off.

Without the stimulation Heartland was desperate for release; he groaned weakly to catch Jean-Michel’s attention and was answered with violence. The hand in his hair shoved Heartland forward; he yelped and teetered forward, without his arms to catch him he landed face-first on the floor on his knees, directly in the mess he’d made earlier. Heartland struggled weakly to right himself, ignoring the painful, needy throbbing of his cock but Jean-Michel was over him in a flash, shoving his head hard to the ground so cum streaked his face and chest.

“I’ll let you cum, Heartland, but not yet, you haven’t yet learned your place,” Jean-Michel said, grinding the mayor’s face to the floor. They were in line now, Jean-Michel was fully erect again and now pressed firmly against his ass.

“None of you have learned your place yet,” he went on, addressing the camera this time as he spat in his free hand and rubbed it into his cock. Jean-Michel let go of Heartland’s head to grab his hips, to steady him.

Heartland tried to plead with him, but couldn’t form words. He tried to move, but without use of his arms he simply could not rise. Still his cock throbbed, hungry for stimulation, and that was perhaps the worst part of what this man from Academia intended to do to him. Fear was rising in his chest, wound up together with the fading remnants of pleasure still coursing through him.

“Your place is beneath Fusion, serving us however we see fit. This is your place,” Jean-Michel said, his breath catching in his throat despite himself. He was drunk on the power he had over the mayor; the crew present exchanged glances but said nothing, did not intervene.

Jean-Michel positioned himself, took in the view before him and met the eyes of the Resistance through the camera lens, then leaned forward and with one single, hard thrust he taught the whole of Xyz just where they belonged.


End file.
